Heartbreak in Stereo
by battery licker
Summary: Castiel is falling from Grace, due to his human thoughts. He's always believed that he never belonged in paradise. He just wants to live like how those who walk the Earth do. To be able to fall in love. To be mortal. He meets Dean Winchester, a boy he'd cut his own wings off for. Falling in love with him is easy. Surviving the Angels who hunt him is not.


AUTHOR'S NOTE: The title is taken from Pencey Prep's debut album, Heartbreak in Stereo and does not belong to me in anyway. Listen to it. Favourite band. Favourite record. Chapter titles are also taken from song names, which will range from belonging to Kansas and Metallica to My Chemical Romance and The Used. And Pencey Prep. Because they're rad. Hella.

Also, I'd appreciate it if people would aknowledge that this is my own version of the Supernatural verse. Demons, ghosts and the usual will mostly be the same, but I'll be changing a few things mainly with how the Angels work, just so it fits my story better. It won't be anything crazy different. Just a few tweaks considering how Grace and their mojo stuff works.

CHAPTER ONE. SUNSETS ARE FOR MUGGINGS.

Spreading his wings, the lonesome Angel casts a wistful look over the cliff. A strange form of curiosity takes over his gentle face in the shape of a concerned frown, his eyes narrowed, as blue as the vast sky just a footstep ahead. He reflects, aware that this is the last time he will be able to look out over his own land. Time in this world for him is coming to an end.

"Are you ready?" A soft voice enters his clouded mind, reasuring and calm.

He closes his eyes. "Yes." The reply is a low, but subtle growl. "I can feel his presence approaching."

A weak sigh drifts from the foot of the cliff. "The Arch Angels will spare you," the delicate voice murmers, confident but quiet. He knows this. It's a thought that has plagued his mind in recent weeks. He turns, a ruffle of feathers dissapating into the wind, before he takes in Anna's new form. She has replaced her vessel.

"I'm aware." The grumble of an answer is almost silent. "But the chances of me surving the fall are slim. Anna, the Arch Angels might not be the ones to end my existance, but I will still die. There is a... a bounty on my head. Every high class Angel in Heaven is determined to take my life."

It's Anna's expression that makes the younger Angel look away. Emotions. Doubt. Fear. Sadness. Isn't it these components of human life that are what will find the Angel dead? He doesn't look back up to see Anna's lips turn thin, a forceful smile tainting her new features. "You don't deserve this..." she trails off. "Heaven is corrupt, not you."

A moment of silence passes between both Angels. For the youngest of the two, it might be the last moment of true peace he will ever experience.

"He's here." The two words that leave his mouth are shaken, again leveled with some form of emotion, a hint of fear in the announcement. He turns sharply to his companion, determination riddled into his eyes. "Leave. Anna, I will not allow you too, to fall. You belong in Grace." His face twists painfully, a rebellion in itself balanced with the worried thoughts that flash behind his eyes. He feels his body tense as Anna steps forward, lifting her fragile hands. However they are far from delicate, and cup his face with a gentle firmness.

"Thank you, Castiel," she whispers, before he feels her wings move the air around them. A noise of flight, and Anna is gone.

The Arch Angels are here.

xoxo

Dean Winchester is pissed off.

Hungry, angry, and pissed the fuck off.

A series of small growls and sounds of anger roll from his tounge, each more aggressive than the last. Maybe, just maybe, if his kid brother wasn't so much of a dick bag - then maybe Dean would be feeling better. Hell, he'd be feeling just peachy if it wasn't for the fact that Sam had suddenly decided he'd drink every bottle of damn beer in his apartment. Sam doesn't even like beer. This only manages to piss Dean off even more.

Then there is also the fact that he needs a smoke, depite not even being a fucking smoker in the first damn place. This is what living with Sam Winchester does to a man.

It had only started to get bad recently. He knows his little borther is stressed. Finals. Exams. Break-up's. He and Jess had just ended and since then, he'd done nothing but drink himself into oblivion. Using Dean's beers.

Dean could try to empathise with Sam's heartbreak, but it isn't as if Jess had been the one to blow him off. Oh no, Sam had only gone and slept with another chick. Sure, Dean is impressed. Damn, no he's really fucking impressed. Sam had hard-fucking-core sex with Lucy Mason, the hottest girl in town. Even Dean couldn't get her in bed with him. However, the point is that Sam has been acting freakishly out of character. His bitch faces had somehow gotten even more nausiating, and apparently he had replaced Bobby's title of the town drunk.

Dean could stand to be corrected, but he is pretty damn sure that Sam isn't exactly Sam anymore. His little brother is a fucking nerd who drinks vegetable-shakes and wants to be a fucking lawyer. This new Sammy is more like... Dean hates and loves to admit it, but more like... Dean.

He sighs and lets his eyes fall shut for a moment. "Sam?" He yells, staring into the fridge. "Sammy! Where's all my freakin' beer gone?"

He waits a moment, still frowning at the lack of alcohol and pie. Sam had eaten the fucking pie, too. "Dean?" Sam finally stumbles into the room.

"Give me twenty bucks," Dean demands, standing up to face his brother. The look of utter fuck-off-it's-my-money-get-your-own-you-dick-bag that rests on Sam's face makes Dean want to start throwing punches. "Any minute now would be appreciated, Sammy."

"Why would I lend you twenty bucks? Dean, you have your own cash. You can't leech off me and Bobby forever."

Dean manages to stay relatively calm. "Just hand me the cash. You ate all the damn food and I'm not gonna sit here and starve my precious little ass off tonight, just because you're having another growth spurt or something."

Sam tilts his head to the side, and a short huff of amusment leaves his lips. He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a twenty dollar bill. "Will you buy me a coke?"

"Fine, yes, whatever I'll buy you a damn fucking coke." Dean snatches the money away violently, frowning at his brother. "Asshole."

"Whatever, jerk. Just fetch me a coke and a copy of Busty Asian Beauties."

Dean freezes. "Since when the fuck did you jack off to cheap skin mags?" He shakes his head quickly. "No, don't answer that. Back in fifteen minutes okay? With your... coke and porn."

Walking to the town's Wallmart is a short trip, but Dean strolls along slowly, his head filled with confusion. He tries to forget about his brother's strange behaviour, but even with Metallica blasting through his headphones, he's still left feeling freaked out and unhappy. Dean hates this new Sam. He wants old Sam back. With a sigh, Dean shrugs to himself. His brother is only sticking around for another night and then he's headed back up to Stanford, so he might as well just deal with his bullshit until he packs up his crap and leaves. Feeling guilty, Dean decides that he wants nothing more than for Sam to just get the fuck out of his apartment already.

He gets a few friendly smiles from the local old people, and tries to hurry past them without seeming rude. Today is one of those days where Dean would rather not talk about his parents, considering that they are all that the over 60's ever want to discuss. Once he arrives at the store, he takes a moment outside to check he still has the money. Pie and beer. That's his mission.

There is a guy stood outside, leaning against a garbage can. Dean spies him for a moment, noticing the dirt that is smudged into his worn, tattered trench coat. He wears a painful expression, staring at the ground with all of his concentration as if his whole life depends on it. Dark rings of exhaustion circle his narrowed eyes, and his hair is ruffled and unkept. Dean stares for about a second too long, and the guy looks up to meet his gaze. The Winchester smiles awkwardly and waves before shuffling to the enterence of the store. With a sharp intake of air through gritted teeth, Dean cringes internally. He'd just been caught staring at a fucking homeless man. He feels like a complete and utter douchebag, guilt streaming through his guts.

He gathers the pie. It's frozen and cheap, but it's pie. Dean then sets off to stock up on beer. He even takes a bottle of scotch too, that Sam will certainly not be allowed near. The lady - Denise - at the counter gives Dean a smile. She's pretty, is Dean's first thought. No, she's a fucking babe, is his second.

Denise, with long blonde hair, heavy eye make-up and pearly whites licks the side of her mouth then bites her lip as Dean drops his alcohol, pie, skin mags and coke at the cash register. "Hey," she drawls out, giving Dean 'the eye'. "Need anything else?"

"Oh, baby. You know what I'd like..." Dean shoots a quick flirt of a response back, but is distracted when he catches a glimpse of the man outside. "... to know is, uh - who's that guy? Outside?"

Denise suddenly looks disappointed. Her tone instantly changes. "Oh. I'm not sure. He's been sat out there all day. My manager wanted to tell him to leave but... I convinced her otherwise. He's cute and looks lost."

He smiles, nodding earnestly. Denise bags his crap together, and he hands over the twenty dollar bill. "Keep the change," he tells her, mainly just to piss Sam off. He wanders outside, feeling goosebumps rise on his skin once the cold evening air hits him. He glances inconspiciously to his left. Homeless Dude is still hanging about.

Dean means to move forward, walk home and stick his pie in the oven, but he lingers by the store for just a few moments too long. He turns sharply to face the guy. "Hey I uh, I bought you a coke." Dean lifts the red soda can up, offering it to the man. He eyes it curiously, still frowning deeply. Dean tilts his head to the side slightly; this guy can't be much older than him. Early twenties. Denise is right. He does look lost.

"I can't accept that," Homeless guy informs Dean. His voice is low and raspy, as if he's been choking on gravel for the last hour. "You bought that for your younger brother."

Now it's Dean's turn to wear a confused frown. "Excuse me?" He sticks the soda out further, lifting his other arm as he performs some kind of gesture that indicates his bewilderment.

"Consuming liquids is... unneccisary for people of my kind. And your brother - Sam - will not be very impressed if you return home empty handed."

Dean is barely processing that this guy has either just read his fucking mind, or has been stalking him for Christ's sake. All he knows is that he offered the guy a fucking coke and he said no. "Who the fuck are you?" He ducks his head in. "Some kind of psychic-alien-homeless-tax-accountant?"

The homeless-mind-reader-slash-stalker's frown deepens even more, and Dean wonders if that is even possible. "No," he says, as if the answer is obvious. "I am an Angel of The Lord."

"Right, right..." the words are soft, but sarcastic. "So add religeous dick bag to the the alien tax dude thing." Dean looks away, grumbling quietly to himself. "So you do you want the damn coke or what?" He thrusts his hand out again, stepping forwards.

"I don't require 'coke'."

"Well what the hell do you require?"

"My Grace would be especially helpful right at this moment."

"Grace? That your girlfriend or what?"

"I don't have a girlfriend."

Dean huffs, lifting his eyebrows. "What a surprise." Also what the hell, Sam's being a dick, and Angel-Of-The-Fucking-Lord here is too good for carbonated soft drinks. He'll drink the fucking coke himself. "Are you uh, homeless?" He asks, trying to make the question sound light as he cracks open Sam's drink.

Something flashes through the mysterious man's eyes. Dean feels himself stiffen slightly, feeling uncomfortable. "Yes." He finally answers the question, staring intently ahead of him. He doesn't say anything else, just remains eerily silent.

Dean shifts his weight slightly. He's never spoken to a homeless person before, nevermind one like this. He feels uncertain about the situation, and bites his lip in a cautious movement. He can't really just leave this guy, can he? He's a nut job. What if he gets himself killed? What if he walks out in front of a truck, thinking that he's invincible? He's convinced that he's an Angel Of The Lord for fuck's sake.

After these thoughts pass through his mind, Dean makes a decision. He can't just leave this guy to get himself killed. "Do you have any money?" He questions, trying not so seem as if he's about to try and rob the poor man.

He stares curiously at Dean for a few seconds. "We don't have any need for currency."

Dean blinks, his expression blank. "Come again?"

"Come where?"

After a beat, Dean falters. "Look, um..." he begins, pursing his lips. "I don't wanna sound like a rude asshole." Dammit, how does he word this without coming across as a jerk? "But where did you come from? Hospital maybe? White walls, doctors and stuff?" He really feels like a douche. By 'stuff', Dean means 'padded cells' and 'straight jackets'. However, his mouth remains shut, and he doesn't let these extra few details roll from his lips.

"My sanity is perfectly in tact, Dean."

Dean's frown deepens. "How the fuck do you know my name? Do you have some kind of freaky ass pychic mojo or something?"

"I'm an Angel Of The Lord."

Dean doesn't know what to say. He should be scared by now. Or he should be calling this guy crazy and trying to get him locked up. However, Dean Winchester does not do 'scared'. Neither does he want this guy put away just yet. Instead, he prays that his life is not about to become some kind of cliched, sickening Twilight spin-off.

It takes another few minutes of awkward observation and curiosity, before Dean suddenly let's out a harsh curse. "Dude-" he jerks forward, his eyes as large as his favourite Kansas CD. "Are you bleeding?"

He is; Dean is sure of it. He didn't notice it before, but a dark patch of red has leaked through the beige of his over-sized coat, staining the length of his side crimson. The fabric that covers it is torn, ragged and dried with his blood. "It was a long fall," he explains, seemingly unphased by the injury.

Dean finds himself panicking, tugging gently at his coat so that he can inspect the wound. "What the heck happened? Did you...? Fuck-" Realization suddenly hits Dean hard in the face. "Can you walk?"

"The pain is minimal, much less than I expected. Walking is... difficult, however."

"Take your coat off..." Dean goes out of his way to soften his tone, treating the guy like he could fall apart at any moment. "Okay - good. No, no... not good. Shit." Dean is staring at a four inch gash carved right into his waist. He tries not to freak. He has to stay calm. "You've lost too much blood," he comments. "We need to get you to a hospital-"

"No."

Dean frowns, concern filling the crevices that line his worried face. "No?" He laughs bitterly. "You're going to fucking die if we don't get you stitches right now."

He shakes his head. "No. I need a bed, and water. My powers have been drained and remaining in this form while attempting to heal myself at the same time would be suicide." His eyes bore into Dean's. "So if you want to help, do as I say."

Dean gulps, unsure of how to react. "What do I need to do?"

Those eyes - those fucking blue eyes - grow determined, unblinking and in refusal of dropping the intense gaze that they share. "Your... place of residence. Take me there, now."

Not knowing what the fuck he's doing, Dean puts his arm around the supposed Angel's shoulders, and helps him stand properly on his feet. Gaining a few confused glances from the neighbours, he drags him back to his crappy apartment, praying that Sam has fucked off to go and bone some hot chick. Dean doesn't need to be dealing with his brother's bullshit right now. He has a crazy dying man in his arms, and hell - he should be calling a fucking ambulance - but it looks as if he's going to be stitching him up using his own hands. This makes Dean feel uneasy. He's had to put stitches in his shoulder before, and it wasn't pleasant.

Once inside, he helps the guy down onto the couch. Dean watches as his face twitches with pain, before he glances at his blood covered hands. "Take off your shirt," he instructs, heading towards the bathroom.

Dean guesses that he's doing as he's told, and grabs what is needed. Floss. Needle. Lighter. The scotch he just bought, and a shit ton of band-aids. He turns to head back into the living room, but bumps noses with Sam.

The youngest Winchester looks confused, but something is off about him. Dean doesn't know what it is. Maybe he is drunk again. Maybe he's gone past the alcohol. Dean just can't tell anymore. "Why is there a guy on our couch bleeding to death?" Sam asks the obvious.

"I found him at the Wallmart," Dean replies.

Sam chuckles. "Sorry - what? I thought I heard you just say that you found the guy at a fucking Wallmart."

"Yeah, I did." Dean smirked. " Bleeding all over the fucking place. He fell from Heaven."

Sam shrugs, clearly not bothered or in the mood to really care. Dean lets out a snort as he walks back over to the couch, before crouching down and setting his things out on the coffee table. The blue eyed man is staring at Sam, a look of disgust etched into his face. "What?" Dean scoffs. "My brother try to kill your ex or something?"

"Your brother is a demon," he whispers, not looking away from the tallest of the three. Dean pulls a face of confusion, glancing between the bleeding guy on his couch, to his brother who is downing another beer.

He looks back to the man. Man. Dean doesn't even know his name. "Demon. Sammy. That's great and all, but do you have a name?" He makes it clear that he doesn't belive his little fairytale.

"Castiel," he murmers, his eyes still burning into the back of Sam's head.

"Castiel? What kinda name is that?" Dean huffs in amusment, but nods in aknowledgement at the same time.

"It's Enochian. Your brother is possesed; there is a demon inside of him, Dean. My name doesn't matter right now." His voice diminishes into a low hiss, filled with caution and warning. Dean doesn't stop to consider what he has said. This guy claimed to be a fucking Angel. He knows that he's confused; maybe he hit his head when he 'fell'. Either way, Dean has been making a plan. He'll patch him up now, and let him stay the night as he recovers. Tomorrow, he'll drive him down to the hospital and get him locked up in a cell where he won't be able to hurt himself or anybody else. He'd have taken him already but Dean is curious. He's never met a homeless and crazy person before.

He bites his lip. "Alright, Castiel... uh, I need you to just move to your left so I can get to the cut. Right - this is gonna hurt like a bitch so just hold Sam's hand if you start crying, okay? Okay." Dean pushes the needle into Castiel's skin, and it goes through without so much as a whimper from the older man.

It's on the third stitch that Castiel suddenly freaks out. His eyes widen larger than Dean thought possible, his sky blue orbs flooded with fear. "I don't have enough energy to excersize the demon from your brother," he whispers, looking terrified. Dean ignores him. "Dean, listen. You don't believe me. I understand that. However if you value your life, I'd do exactly as I tell you."

"My brother is not a demon, Cas." Dean sighs heavily.

Castiel frowns. " Do you want to die?"

Sam is still drinking, two pairs of eyes locked in on him. He doesn't seem to have noticed Cas's revalation. Dean flicks his gaze back to the blue eyed man. "Demons don't exist."

Cas closes his eyes, then lifts a hand to Dean's face. He lets his fingers stroke his forehead for a brief second, before both boys are staring at each other again. "Dean, your mother was killed by a demon," he tells him, face lacking emotion. This makes Dean freeze.

"Don't talk about her," he hisses, eyes turning sour. "I don't care about your pychic mojo crap, but just don't you dare say anything about my mom. Ever."

"But it's true." Cas spares the younger man no sympathy. "You already lost her. And your father died trying to kill the demon who ended your mother's life. I can still save your brother if you do as I say."

"No," Dean spits. "No, I - I want you out of my apartment. Now."

He tilts his head to the side, face full of inqusitation. "You need to trust me."

"Why should I?" keeping his voice low, Dean glares daggars at Castiel. "You - you claimed you're were a mind reading Angel who fell from the fucking sky, and now you're trying to tell me that my brother - Sammy - is an evil monster who is out to slit my throat? What are you - nuts? You're fucked up. I tried to help you, Cas. But No. Get out. Now." He moves backwards and looks in the direction of the door.

Cas follows Dean's gesture, his eyes settling on the exit. Dean watches his face as Cas's eyes lose focus for a split second, before centering in on something else. "Dean-"

"He tried to tell you."

Dean feels something slide against his throat, not quite puncturing his skin. It's cold, almost blade like. It sends shivers running down his spine. A knife. A fucking knife. "Sammy, what's going on?" Dean's voice is barely audible. He gulps hard, his throat pressing into the blade. His mind is a blur - what's going on? He can't think. A knife - there is a knife against his fucking throat, being held by his own brother.

Maybe this Castiel is right -

No.

Dean refuses to believe in any of this bullshit. But Cas read his mind. He knew about Dean's parents.

Sam digs the knife into Dean's flesh, drawing a single drop of blood. The older Winchester squeezes his eyes shut and tries to keep breathing steadily. "I need your blood." Sam tells him in a slur. "To talk to Daddy."

"Dad?" Dean stammers, blinking as he stares at Cas. The blue of his eyes seems to help him remain calm.

"Daddy," Sam repeats. "It's been a while since I last talked to him. Sorry, Winchester. Your Angel friend can't protect you. He's all out of Grace..." his tone dances playfully, completely out of character. This isn't Sam. "I've been sat in here, all warm and cosy for a little while, now... two weeks? I like this boy. I'd like to... play with him for a little more."

Castiel remains silent. Dean growls. "You leave my brother alone - or I'll kill you." His eyes are already seeking out the scissors that lay on the coffee table. He'd brought them in for use while tending to Cas's stitches.

"I can cut your throat open right now, if I want to." Sam is now at the same height as Dean, his knees scraping up on the floor. Gently, his left hand rests on Dean's shoulder, and he leans forward to talk directly into his ear. "But you're a pretty boy. Like I said; I wanna play for a little while." His voice is almost flirtatious, making Dean cringe with disgust.

His eyes are still on the scissors. Castiel appears to be concentrating hard, his eyebrows furrowed. "You nasty son of a bitch," Dean spits as he suddenly sends his arm flying outwards, grabbing his only weapon before sharply stabbing the sharp object into Sam's leg. The demon gasps, gritting his teeth as he falls backwards. It's only slightly, but his grip on Dean falters just enough for him to whip himself away. "Get out of my brother."

For a moment, Dean thinks he's won. Sam is bent over, hissing in pain as he stumbles across the room. Then all of a sudden, a laugh jerks it's way from his lips.

He's laughing.

The little bastard is fucking laughing.

"You're so unexperienced, it's fucking cute," the demon smirks, something glinting in his eyes which momentarily flash black. Dean feels his blood boil. "You don't know how to kill a demon, and your little Angel is bleeding to death."

"I said, get out of my brother."

"You know," Sam is licking his lips, starting to pace up and down. The scissors protruding from his leg don't seem to bother him at all. "I've been in a lot of you men before, but Sammy here is by far my favourite. Oh, and do keep yelling Dean. It makes my body here go all tingly. I love it when you talk rough." The bitch possesing Sam steps forward, mouth opened slightly with a hint of mischief in his eyes. Dean feels himself tense up, his hands curling into fists. "What?" He suddenly gasps. "Don't you like me flirting with you while I'm inside your brother? You think it's... disgusting?"

"You're fucking vile."

He giggles. Dean cringes. "I find it kind of a turn-on, if I'm honest." Dean continues to watch, eyes flickering from his brother to Cas every few seconds. "It's wrong. A boy shouldn't fuck his own brother, should he...? That's why it's delicious. Because it's so damn dirty."

Dean tries to keep eye contact, but the son of a bitch is making him feel uncomfortable. Cas is a few feet behind Sam, doing something that makes Dean frown in concern. His hands are crimson with his own blood. He mutters silently under his breath, before lifting a hand to smudge blood across the arm of Dean's couch, making the Winchester freak out slightly.

However, he returns his attention back to Sam as Cas does his weird blood thing. "Look, just let my brother go. Please, I-" Dean pauses and looks down. When he meets Sam's demonic gaze again, his eyes are riddles with determination. "You can use my blood. Just don't kill Sam. Please." He's desperate now, and unsure of if he's just trying to buy Cas time, or if he genuinly means what he's saying. "Please, he's just a kid - he doesn't deserve to die yet. Do what you have to do, then let him go."

"Don't tease me like that, Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean..." he repeats his name over and over again, rolling it from his tongue differently each time. "Or I'll kill your little baby brother... and let you go." A wide grin stretches across his face. "Let you live with the guilt - knowing that you couldn't save poor little Sammy because you were just too damn weak." By now, Dean is sure that the demon has forgotten that Cas is even in the room.

"I'll come and find you," Dean says, venom dripping from each word. "I'll kill you. I'll hunt you down and fucking kill you."

Sam laughs, throwing his head backwards. "You can send me to hell, baby. I'll just crawl back out again and drag you down there myself."

Cas suddenly looks at Dean. "In infernis arderet fili canis praecisae," he utters the words, his voice a dark tremble, before pressing his bloody hand to the strange markings to his left. The demon turns, frowning at Castiel.

"What was that?" he asks, amusment dancing in his tone. "Did you just try to excersize me?"

"No," Cas says, before swiftly jumping to his feet. No evidence of pain crosses his face as he pushes his hand against Sam's forehead. "Avert your eyes!" He yells to Dean, raising his voice over Sam's tortured screams. Panicking, Dean lifts his arm to cover his face, feeling a bright white light surround him. After an endless second, the room is dark again. Sam falls to the ground, his body limp and boneless.

"Fuck-" Dean shoots forwards, landing by his brother's side. "Sammy?" He croaks, terrified that he's not breathing. "What did you do to him? Cas?" His eyes are wide and tearful, staring up at the mysterious blue eyed man in search of an answer.

"I'm sorry," Cas murmers. He looks away, unable to meet Dean's gaze.

"Cas? Cas! What the fuck did you do?" Dean is yelling, leaning over his brother's lifeless body to growl at the Angel. Cas turns away. "Sammy?" Dean shakes the younger Winchester by the shoulders. "No, fuck - no. Sam you can't, you're not allowed to do this to me." His hands are desperate, trying to find a pulse amongst Sam's throat. There is no throbbing, no sound of his breathing, no beat of his heart. Dean gulps, shaking his head in denial.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Cas is repeating himself. "This couldn't have been avoided."

"But it could have!" Dean shouts, baring his teeth in anger. "I didn't fucking listen to you - I, I'm... why didn't I fucking listen to you?"

Cas closes his eyes, breathing in deeply. "You thought I was a pychopath. No rational human being would want to come to terms with things such as Angels and demons. It's not your fault, Dean."

Dean's eyes level out, focusing and unfocusing until his expression is blank. "I know that," he tells Cas, bare of emotion. "Son of a bitch... you did this. It's your fault."


End file.
